Chapter Text
It had taken all of six months for Grace to feel lonely on Erid.
It wasn't a type of loneliness he had a name for, at least not at first. No matter how many times he analysed the feelings within his chest, how many different angles or approaches he had to discern the way something just wasn't... Right.
Sure, he had certainly felt a similar kind of loneliness on the Hail Mary to Tau Ceti and on the way to Erid, but at the forefront of his mind during his time in space was one- trying to figure out who he was, and two- not starving to death.
But as he arrived on Erid with Rocky, as life began to slow, and the physical markers of space travel and starving began to heal...
He felt something within his chest growing wider and wider. It was like a gaping chasm, and it was something that he tried desperately to fill.
He began teaching the Eridian pebbles, falling back into a role that gave him purpose again, and in his teaching hours, it was easy to forget there was a chasm there at all. He spent so much time reading, and reading and... Reading. He had Earth's internet at his disposal, and he didn't think he would ever bore of having enough scientific papers to last him several lifetimes.
Time with Rocky and Adrian was the best, but it was also the worst. They regularly spent their afternoons together, at least every few days, but they always had to go home at the end of an evening well spent. And that was the worst part. Grace would watch them leave, and enter their own atmosphere, shedding their exoskeletons for Grace's biodome, and see the moment their carapaces touched. It was usually Rocky who would shimmy up to the far larger Adrian, looking something like a cat who had been without touch for far too long.
For all the knowledge Grace had at his disposal and inside his big brain, it wasn't until the eight month mark of his time on Erid that he finally glimpsed the bottom of the chasm, uncovering exactly why he felt like something had been torn from him without his consent.
In many ways, that was exactly what it was.
Stratt had said to him, on his last day on Earth, that he didn't have a family, that he didn't even have a dog. She had justified what she had done to him in many ways... Some he could understand... But in this way he couldn't.
Did she not see that every Thursday night he caught up with his friend Marissa, a date so normal and fixed that the waiting staff knew exactly where they preferred to sit and their usual order? Did she not see the way he spent afternoons running homework and science clubs for the students and any families who wanted to join? Did she not see the group bicycle ride he joined on a Saturday morning? Or were these forms of community, these families he was a part of not important to her?
Rocky and Adrian and the pebbles were incredible, and, despite the work the Eridian scientists were doing to make the Hail Mary safe for the flight back to Earth, he had already indicated that he would prefer to stay on Erid, probably indefinitely. He could not imagine himself going back to Earth, back to a place where he, though he knows why, still feels the sharp sting of betrayal.
Of course he knew he was expendable in the grand scheme of the entirety of their planet. But he didn’t want to be.
So, he spent his days teaching and marking and reading, always reading, and many evenings with Rocky and Adrian, and it was peaceful, but no matter what, there was always a barrier between them.
It was a singular moment in which it clicked for him. It was no different from any other time he saw Rocky and Adrian enter their atmosphere, and Adrian this time reciprocated Rocky's affection at the contact, bringing him into what looked suspiciously like what could be an Eridian version of a hug.
He missed being touched. He missed being able to touch. Hugs and kisses on the cheek from Marissa, high fives with the students, claps on the back from his riding pals. Touch wasn't required for everyone to feel connected, but he realised in that moment, watching his Eridian friends leave him, that he was someone who thrived with physical contact.
The problem was that he didn't just miss human touch. He craved it. The chasm in his chest grew larger with the knowledge. It was as though spending all that time peering into the abyss had eroded the edges where he stood, and as he fell into the darkness, he knew that it would be inescapable.
Some of his routines changed from that knowledge, though he was sure they weren't a conscientious shift. He had already spent much of his time talking to himself, whether it was thinking aloud or exclaiming when he marked his students work and was proud of their results. But he noticed that he frequently had his arms wrapped around himself now, and that when he was reading or watching a movie, his fingers would brush up and down his arm, as though he could convince himself that someone was there with him.
Sleeping had always been difficult for him, his thoughts rushing and racing quicker than he could catch hold of them. It was a few weeks after he had finally pieced together the sensations within him that he lay in his bed, awake for hours, the chasm feeling as though it were suffocating him. He had cried that night, sobs wracking his body, the loneliness so keen in every facet of being that he couldn't regulate himself. On instinct, or perhaps out of an embarrassing desperation, he had interlaced his fingers together, as though the phantom sensation could be enough. He imagined someone's fingers reaching for his, their hand holding tight and not letting him go.
Then, as though there was some perforation between his dreams and reality, the Eridians brought another human to Erid.
It was Rocky who had brought him the news. Eridian scientists had led a team to a cluster of stars which had been so badly feasted on by Astrophage they were virtually non-existent. They had hoped releasing Taumoeba would help the stars revive, but what they hadn't anticipated was a distress call from the bottom of an ocean on a nearby moon.
Rocky hadn't given him further details, except that the human they had rescued had been in bad shape, to the point they weren't sure he was going to survive. They hadn't even told him the man's name, and they would not let Grace near him.
Their excuses had been to do with quarantine procedures, and considering they had found him underneath an ocean full of human blood, Grace understood the importance, but... The way Adrian and Rocky responded when he asked every day if he could see the man... He wondered if it was more to do with what would happen if he did die.
Grace didn't want to imagine his reaction to that possible outcome, either.
It had been two months of the man being comatose and under Eridian care when Rocky and Adrian had visited Grace with news. He was healing well, and they were more certain he would wake. What they were unsure about was his potential reaction when- if -he woke up.
Grace had jumped at the chance to have the man be moved to his house. He would help him! He would take care of him, and make sure he was healing, and safe, and comfortable.
A month later, the man- Simon- had woken up, and it had taken all but a week for Grace to wonder if it would be better if he was alone.
Simon was deeply traumatised. Whatever he had experienced was horrific, probably moreso than Grace could even imagine. That wasn't the problem. Neither were the outbursts. He had years of experience working with children who had their fair share of trauma and didn't know how to process it, lashing out on a whim, always in fight or flight. He had prided himself in being able to provide a safe environment to help them regulate their emotions.
It wasn't a problem when his own loneliness wasn't so tethered to the outcome.
Weeks and weeks passed with the only interactions between them being some shade of hostile. It was on a particularly fraught afternoon where Simon was convinced that Grace was an operative of some organisation- the C.O.I?- where he found himself at his wits end.
It was Adrian who ended up being his voice of reason as they sat down at the water's edge, watching the waves lap towards them.
"What you do to help children on Earth, question?" They had asked him, legs curled underneath their carapace.
"He's not a child, though..." Grace had responded, and Adrian turned to him with an expression they didn't have that seemed to communicate, 'humour me.'
"I don't know... With the children I worked with who had experienced trauma, their lives were often so unpredictable, so unstable. I had great routines in my classroom to help with all of my students, but having the same routines and expectations day in and day out... It didn't shift straight away, but it was a constant that they could rely on... They felt safe, because things didn't change on them on a whim- oh."
Adrian's song translated to something along the lines of 'see? I told you so.' Grace could have kissed them right then.
And so, Grace really drew on his well of experience, on those teaching skills that he used so well he didn’t even need to think about anymore.
He set routines. He set clear expectations.
And he did not deviate from them.
It had been two days of this and already the scratchy side of his brain was begging to mix things up, but he persevered and thankfully, he had a breakthrough.
He had been sleeping on the couch since Simon’s transfer to the house, and he woke at his usual time, just like clockwork. He showered, dressed, cooked breakfast and made coffee.
Simon would stay in his-Grace’s- room until after Grace left for the school day, but every morning Grace would make a coffee and a plate of food for him, leaving it on the kitchen bench for when he emerged. On the third morning, Simon had eaten the food. The fourth morning, and the coffee had been drunk. Another day had the plates and cutlery cleaned and away by the time Grace got home.
But it was on the ninth morning that the bedroom door opened slowly as Grace was plating up the bacon and egg replicate. He had been pondering over how soon they could get vegetables into their diet when he caught the movement of Simon emerging tentatively from the room. He still seemed like something wild, something that didn’t know how he found himself to be domesticated and was one small movement away from leaping through the nearest window.
Grace had glimpsed his continued approach but purposely turned his back to continue making coffee. He had pulled the machine from the Hail Mary, and thankfully had more coffee beans that he knew what to do with.
He turned back around slowly, far slower than his usual movements, two cups of coffee within his grasp. Simon watched him approach, his body tense as though coiled and ready to strike if the need arose, but Grace just offered him one of his easy smiles as he slid one mug towards the other man.
“If it's too strong or weak, let me know and I’ll make it how you like it.” Grace commented casually, ignoring the fact his heart was jackhammering within his chest.
Simon didn't speak, and didn't nod, but slowly grasped the mug of coffee in his hand and took a sip. His eyes closed for a split second, as though he had lapsed into some sense of security as he savoured the drink. His eyes flashed open just as quickly though, tension back in his shoulders as his gaze remained fixed on Grace.
They sat in silence as they ate and drank their coffee, and Grace felt like the barrier in between them was a little less solid, a little less unshakeable.
“I’m going to head to class now. I’ll be back at the usual time.” Grace had said nonchalantly as he washed up his dishes and collected his bag and papers.
Simon didn’t say anything, but he felt his eyes on him the whole way to the door.
From that day onwards, Simon left the confines of the bedroom when Grace was preparing breakfast. He watched as Grace moved about the kitchen, each morning with an increasingly distressed expression on his face that Grace did not know how to interpret, but would not bring up first.
It was the third day of this that Simon suddenly asked a question that took Grace by surprise.
“What do I owe you?”
He was resolved and despondent, the words holding a weight that Grace didn’t know how to carry.
“Simon… You don’t owe me anything. Not now, not ever. You being here doesn’t have strings attached.” The man stared at Grace then, his expression contorting into something between confusion and disgust.
“You’re either lying or you’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”
“Or I’m a secret third thing.” Grace's words fell from his tongue without thinking, and he glanced up at Simon to see his reaction.
He was again surprised, this time to find Simon's expression having shifted. He was still confused, but he seemed... Expectant. Grace sighed, poking at the artificial meat on the plate in front of him.
“Maybe I know how it feels to be without and to need some help. Rocky and Adrian and the Eridians helped me, not because they expected anything. Because they wanted to. Because they are kind.” Simon watched him, his dark gaze slicing through Grace, analysing, seeking. Grace held the gaze, uncomfortable as he was, because he couldn't remember the last time he hadn't looked into another human's eyes that weren't his own.
“I’ve never met anyone who was kind without a motive.” Simon stated, something in his tone bordering accusation, but Grace thought back to the times the children he worked with were purposely mean to push others away. A self-defense mechanism and a test rolled into one.
Grace didn’t know what to do with the information Simon had just freely given, but there was something in his words that unsurprised him.
“There’s a first time for everything,” He said softly, and something flashed across Simon’s face, an expression he couldn’t decipher. Grace checked his watch, inwardly chastising himself for being a few minutes late for the school day, but that scratchy, impulse driven side of his brain wanted to stay, to ask Simon everything and anything, to figure out what shade of brown his eyes were. Instead, he cleared his throat, sculled the rest of his coffee and cleaned his dishes, calling his goodbye to Simon on the way out.
Simon's gaze did not stray from him the entire time.